


Shall the game begin

by Little_Firestar84



Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Highlander: The Series, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Immortality, Mick Davies Lives, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-03 00:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16315871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Firestar84/pseuds/Little_Firestar84
Summary: “It’s a prophecy of sort.  One of my old mates left me a letter, with indications where to find a new immortal.”“And you don’t think,” She clenched her teeth as she used her right shoulder to force a door open. “That maybe your old pal had gone crazy after centuries of taking heads? Happens to the best of us, you know?”“Never said he was an immortal, Amanda. Besides, we’ve fought demons, used magical stones to save people, we can’t be killed, and yet you think that seeing the future is impossible?”





	1. Chapter 1

In over 1200 years, there wasn’t a lot that Amanda hadn’t seen. She pretended to be easy-going, to like only shiny things and how to steal them, but she knew it was all a facade.

Amanda… was scared. Because in over 1200 years of life, what she had seen too much of was _death,_ a stink she would recognize everywhere, that would hunt her dreams for decades, sometimes. 

As she was carefully and slowly walking through the burning compound, weary of her surroundings, sword in hand, she swallowed, hard. Right before her, Methos was doing the same, his heart weighted by loss and death and a destruction he had seen too much of. 

His mind kept coming back to his early days as an Immortal, when, masquerading as an Horseman of the Apocalypse, he would ride villages, taking what he wished for and annihilating the rest. He hadn’t always been a good man – not before crossing paths with Cassandra, at least, but, still, thousands of years of rightness weren’t going to erase a few centuries where he had been a Barbarian in the more literal sense of the word.

“My head’s killing me.” She sighed, closing her eyes briefly, and Methos nodded. 

“Yep. I feel like there’s one of us nearby but, it’s just… strange. It’d normally be a moment, but now, it’s nonstop.” He chuckled, turning to his long-time friend and ally. “You think this is how Spider-man uses to feel with his spider sense?”

Amanda didn’t dignify him with a reply. “Why do you think there’s one of us here? Besides the fact that we can both feel their presence, of course?”

“I told you,” he said as he moved some debris with his sword, sighing as he found the scorched remains of someone. “It’s a prophecy of sort. One of my old mates left me a letter, with indications where to find a new immortal.”

“And you don’t think,” She clenched her teeth as she used her right shoulder to force a door open. “That maybe your old pal had gone crazy after centuries of taking heads? Happens to the best of us, you know?” 

“Never said he was an immortal, Amanda. Besides, we’ve fought demons, used magical stones to save people, we can’t be killed, and yet you think that seeing the future is impossible?” She shrugged. “You remember that little bit of information about me being an horseman of the Apocalypse, right?”

She rolled her eyes, as dramatically as she was used to and liked. The chilling air was freezing her bones, and she was glad for the heavy black coat she was wearing, a luxury she hadn’t been granted in her early years, first as a human, later as an immortal. Now, not only it protected her from the chilling winters, but it helped her keeping her sword hidden most of times.

“You were just _pretending_ to be an horseman, Adam dear. Let’s not forget it.” She smirked, addressing the oldest immortal with his newest name,and entered the room they had just opened. The ceiling had fallen in some points, and everywhere there were detached cables and destroyed machinery. The fire hadn’t spared a lot, and yet, they could get glimpses of shining metal, swords and blades and daggers of all kinds, and ammo – a lot of ammo. It was almost as, whoever had used to live there, was getting ready to begin- or maybe end – a war.

And everywhere… more burned bodies. 

And then, she sensed it. She almost doubled over, falling on her knees as she crashed her sweaty palms against her temples. It was almost overwhelming, like no other immortal she had ever felt before. Methos wasn’t doing any better, he was stumbling, barely able to keep his balance, and his nose was bleeding. 

With tentative steps, he trudged through the debris, and reached one of the few items still intact: a coffin. He used all of his strength, but it opened it, revealing inside a perfectly pristine body, one of a young, stylish man. He was in perfect conditions, save for the bullet hole in his forehead. 

Shaking, Methos grabbed his forceps, a memento from his days as a doctor in the wild, wild west, and used it to take the bullet out of the poor man’s head, and in that moment, all hell broke loose: their buzz reached an astonishing volume, then they both felt like there was an explosion, and, like an immortal had just taken an adversary’s head, a lighting storm fell upon them, setting on fire what little had been saved. Amanda and Methos found refugee behind what had probably been a huge screen monitor in a lifetime before, and she blindly reached out for her friend. She grabbed his white shirt, now marred as well, holding him like for dear life, hiding her head in the crook of his neck as Methos gently massaged her beck, as to reassure the old Immortal that everything would have been all right. 

Then, as it had started, it ended, and a gentle, fresh rain started to wash away all the death, the destruction, and the fire. When everything was done and dealt with, it was like nothing had happened at all, and, in the distance, the immortals could even hear the sounds of wildlife taking back control of what it’s been robbed of.

As she was suddenly being burned, Amanda jumped on her feet, and hugged herself, clearing her voice. She was blushing, unable to meet Methos’s mischievous blue eyes. “Don’t you dare ever saying a word about it.” She hissed between clenched teeth. Not that she truly believes that he would have taken seriously her warning: like he had just moments before reminded her, he was older, more experiences than she could dream of ever being. He was the oldest, and more lethal, of their kind,Death on a horse, supreme Faro.

“What… what happened to me?” They turned their heads in direction of the voice, and they found the young man, on his feet at the side of the coffin. He was barely standing, like his muscles had forgotten how to work properly, like a newborn baby. He was looking around himself, swallowing, as pale as the moon’s gaze, and his eyes spook of a story of terror. “What… what is this sound…”

Slowly, carefully, as he was meeting a wild animal in dire need of help, Methos walked towards the frightened young man. The newly awakened immortal took a few tentative steps back, and found himself trapped, his back against the wall and this stranger right before him.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” He says at low voice, calmly, as he was talking with a child, offering the young man his hand to shake and grab. The young man took away his hands from his ears, and tentatively accepted it, wary of his surroundings, his scared eyes never leaving Amanda, looking at the swords in a corner. 

And just like it had started, the buzz… the ringing… it just _stopped_. 

“I am Methos, and she is my friend Amanda. We…”

“I died.” He said, matter-of-fact, as he was suddenly remembering it just in that moment. “I died, didn’t I?” 

Methos nodded. “Yes, you did. A bullet through the head. Which is why you couldn’t came back to life. It’s rare, but not unheard of. I saw myself a couple of cases when I lived in the Old West. The bullet cuts your bloodstream, and your body can’t say for sure if you still got your head or not, keeping you in a sort of limbo. But when I took out the bullet, your body knew what you are, and it brought you back. Now, you are one of us – an immortal.”

“How did you know… I was here? What, what I was – what I am?”

“A common friend, I think. Or maybe you haven’t met him yet, but he knows of you – and he kinda is on good terms with the Winchesters. He left me a book, told me where to find you and when I was supposed to be here. Said that there’s gonna be a war like we have never seen before, and that we’ll all have to play our parts if we want Earth to survive.” 

“But not before we teach you a couple of tricks. It’s gonna be interesting – I haven’t had a pupil in a millennia or so, and the last one, I had to take his head.” Mischievous, like it was everyday business, Amanda offered the recently resurrected immortal one of the swords that had been laying around in the debris- a katana, not so different from the one McLeod used to fight with. She had weighted it in her hand, appreciating the shining metal, the good quality of the blade, its sturdiness. It was a good weapon for a beginner. “Here, sooner or later, you’ll need it.” She moved the hem of her long coat a little, revealing the sword she had hidden when she had seen him, young and scared like she too had been a long time before, when she had realized that a murder victim didn’t need to see a thief armed with a sword, but to hear the reassuring words of an ancient being such as Methos.

“I’m Mick..” He nodded, taking the sword and feeling like he was meeting his best friend again after a long time, like suddenly he had felt his legs after having been without them for a long time. “Mick Davies.”

Methos grinned, mischievous, and squeezed his shoulder, kindly.

“Then, Mick Davies, welcome to the Immortals, and shall the game begin.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick reappears at the bunker, and Mary wonders who Methos and carver may be...

The alarm inside the bunker sang like a siren’s call, forcing the residents of the structure to abandon their everyday activities. Guns and daggers in hands, Mary Winchester, her second born and their resident angel in a trench coat made their way towards the entrance, ready to put anyone who dared to break into their dominion out of their misery, demon, angel or human alike. 

As the cold metal of Castiel’s blade nicked his neck, Mick shivered, swallowing hard as pearls of sweat marred his young skin. Electricity filled the air, small electric shocks run over his skin, aiming his hairs stand up, as they were a serpent slowly and lethally traveling the length of his body.

Less than six months as an immortal, and he was already on his way to die. And not at the hands of a fellow swordsman, but by an angel he had been allied to in a past life.

Methos had tried to warn him, tried to talk him out of joining his fellow hunters, but Mick hadn’t wanted to listen. He had foolishly believed that his training among the Men of Letters could have been enough, that a few months with Duncan McLeod, an excellent teacher, would have done it. But, at the end of the day, Methos’ words weren’t the rambling of a man driven crazy by _millennia_ on this earth, but the wise opinions of someone who had seen more immortal live and die than anyone else ever did.

“Please, just…” He put his hands up, babbling a little, as Castiel still held the blade against his neck.

“Mick?!” Both Mary and Sam wondered at loud, surprised. And yet, they had seen enough of paranormal, of the supernatural, to know to always doubt their eyes. As much as their hearts were joyfully singing for the unexpected return of their former ally, they were used to life throwing punches their way, the unjustness of fate that gave them one just to take two more back. 

Bobby – the one from the Apocalyptic word they had tried to save, just to see it destroyed beyond reconstruction by a fallen archangel that was now traveling the word wearing the skin of the eldest Winchester, planning a new Armageddon that would satisfy all parties involved – threw everything he could think of at the dark-haired man held captive by Castiel’s hold: salt, holy water, a silver blade puncturing his arm… without waiting, giving him time to explain himself, they tried everything they could think of to determine if he was a monster- and what kind of creature was standing right before them in the shape of their fallen friend. 

“Mick? Is that really you?” Mary asked, finally, as she took a tentative step towards him and tenderly cupped his cheek, as he was her lost son returned to her at last.

He just nodded. “This guy, Methos? He found me. Said that years ago, his friend Carver gave him a time and place where to find me and that he’d be able to… bring me back? I swear I’m not a demon, guys. I’m just an immortal.”

“Which is better than a demon because…” Bobby run an hand over his short beard, ready to reply, to find an hole in the monster’s story, but he hadn’t gotten a single syllable out of his mouth that Sam beat him to it. 

“Methos? As in, the guy from the chronicles? Oldest human being on the planet? Used to run with a rogue splinter cell of the Men of Letters, the… observers? No, wait- the Watchers, I guess?”

Mick nodded, his Adam’s apple bouncing against the steely surface of Castiel’s angel blade. “He said that Carver told him that you needed all the help you could get in the upcoming battles.”

“Who’s Carver?” Mary asked, gasping as she saw the wary expression on her son’s face, the way he lowered his eyes as to think, just think about what it meant for them this latest revelation – Mick’s return from the death, the immortality eh claimed to possess, and his mentor’s relationship with Carver – carver, who had, apparently, laid plans for Mick’s return from the death, so that he could be among them as the battle for Earth against Michael roared. 

“It’s God – one of the aliases he used when he was hiding out on Earth, walking among you humans and pretending to be one a prophet. He wrote books about Sam and Dean, about past and future. I think they are everywhere on the Internet.” Castiel explained, calmly, as he took his blade away from Mick’s neck. That was no demon, no ordinary monster- he held no ties neither with Heaven nor Hell. Although shed of what used to make him a mortal, Mick Davis was still human, and his alliance was with his people, and his people alone.

“I’m sorry.” The Angel said, clearing his voice a little- as his words were requested, but not truly felt, nor said of his own accord. Didn’t matter how long castile had walked among humanity, nor that had been punished by becoming one of those creature his Father cherished for a while. There was still a lot castile didn’t know about humans, things he just didn’t understand. It wasa fascinating fragile little thing, humanity, and he cherished each and every discovery. Still, despite the respect that Dean kept denying from over a decade, his mind, his whole tough process wasn’t screwed as humans’, and he understood that, despite having to say he was sorry, he was allowed to actually not mean it. He just needed people to not know this little piece of information.

“So… I may still need to read _How to use a sword for dummies_ , but…” He chuckled,hands on his hips, a ready smile on his lips. “When do we go hunting? Because, I have to tell you, mates… I’ve missed it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Why do I think that Methos and Chuck/God would be friends?


End file.
